


when i’d make you oh-so afraid

by rosewitchx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Canonical Character Death, Closure, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hopeful Ending, I miss lunch club and it shows, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), In which i decide what is canon, It sure is an ending!, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Past Character Death, Resurrection, SMPLive - Freeform, Self-Hatred, Team as Family, anyway., cara schlatt and tubbo are siblings, slimecicle cinematic universe, talking like grown up people, the egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx
Summary: “Sorry I’m late,” Charlie says, stepping over the blackstone. “You know me. Always fashionably late.”— or, a three-part tale about Charlie, Connor, and Schlatt.
Relationships: Charlie Dalgleish & Connor | ConnorEatsPants, Charlie Dalgleish & Jschlatt, Connor | ConnorEatsPants & Jschlatt, Connor | ConnorEatsPants & Jschlatt & Charlie Dalgleish
Comments: 42
Kudos: 296
Collections: Dream SMP Connected Storylines





	1. his rotting corpse is six-feet-under

**Author's Note:**

> title: ghosting - mother mother

“Sorry I’m late,” Charlie says, stepping over the blackstone. “You know me. Always fashionably late.”

He doesn’t expect a response, so he pretends the wind picking up around him doesn’t unsettle him just a little. Walking past the stone seats that surround the elaborate shrine, he thinks it a little silly that these people built such a place for someone so despised. But he gets it, he really does; Schlatt had never been a _small_ person. Always greater than life itself, always casting a shadow over everyone and everything else. Always scheming and plotting. A man, a power play, a god. And this is his _grave;_ it could have never been a small thing. It’s been a goddamn pilgrimage, getting here from the pantheon, getting the invitation and doing all the required shit only to end up here, by the resting place of the man who started him down this path. 

But that was ages ago, wasn’t it? Centuries ago. These people - the boys giving him a tour, making weapons of mass destruction like they’ve learned _nothing,_ these people wouldn’t know anything about immortality and godhood. Not like he does. Not like his friends do. 

_There is a man imprisoned in the Vault, the Warden tells him. The man did horrible, horrible things. Charlie finds his photograph in an old, yellowed textbook from eons ago. He steals the book, takes the secret to the grave._

He looks up. There’s a photograph of the big guy himself by the altar, above the little drawer that contains the dictator’s bones. He only stares at it briefly. Meeting his friend’s eyes brings back bad memories that overwhelm all the good ones.

“Someone told me,” he says, “you don’t want to come back.” The wind howlers. Charlie places down the olive branch and the apple and the poppy he’d brought by the pristine gravestone, finely carved disgrace. “They say you were a bad person in the end.”

He thinks about the crater that was once a country, blooming with red. Thinks about how it makes his chest ache, about how the sight of it always sends his true self spiraling out of control in a mournful craze. The god of creation, watching over a dead valley of bedrock. Thinks about how this man, despite it all, had not been the one to explode it, only the one to light a cigarette in a room full of gunpowder. There’s a nuke and a ball of slime and a bunch of eggs in his pocket. There’s a million words left unsaid. 

_There’s a million words left unsaid. He’s holding onto Grizzly’s body and he weeps. It was never meant to end like this._

_There’s a million words left unsaid. There is a volcano threatening to destroy it all; the air is thick and hot and suffocating with sulfur and steam. There is a sword through Schlatt’s body. The man is smiling._

I don’t think you’re a bad person, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to lie to himself. Why did he come here then? Closure? Perhaps closure. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you should come back,” Charlie says instead, despite himself, “if only to face what you’ve done.”

The wind blows. 

_I know you missed me,_ it seems to say. _I know why you’re here._

Charlie doesn’t bother giving that a response. “Happy birthday,” he says. “I forgive you.”

Maybe it does nothing. Maybe it only somewhat soothes his own heart. As he walks away from the hallowed grounds, though, he thinks he hears a cackle, amused and carefree, and he rests a little easier that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLIMECICLE CINEMATIC UNIVERSE DSMP CANON BABY LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO YOU WANT TO MAKE IT CANON OO YOU WANT TO BE A CANON GOD SO BAD  
> i just think him. yknow


	2. the worst man in the world (amen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think you’re just a person,” Connor sighs. The gale freezes, listening, waiting. “People make mistakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so im continuing this. i just. connor's party stream. my chest. my bones. schlatt's ghost standing before l'crater and being just a bit bitter that he is considered the worst president when at least the country was in one piece while he was in office  
> the chapter titles come from quackity's [schlatt song](https://youtu.be/0RCoPEsyoHo?t=3597)

_ I wasn’t that bad,  _ the wind whispers at Connor.  _ Was I? _

He sits by the dirt hut in the nether and shrugs. The air is scorching, suffocating, and when his friend interacts with him, the burning breeze scalds his skin. “Dunno, man,” he says. “I wasn’t here for all that.”

Footsteps echo behind him. If he turns, he knows he won’t see anything.  _ Yeah, but,  _ the wind says. Huh. There’s a deep sorrow in the way it speaks to Connor; he adjusts his onesie’s hoodie over his head and huffs.  _ Charlie hates me.  _

“He doesn’t  _ hate _ you.” Connor rolls his eyes. “He wouldn’t hang out with us if he hated you.”

_ Everybody hates me,  _ the wind howls.  _ Quackity and Fundy hate me. Wilbur hates me. Tommy and Tubbo hate me. Even Cara hates me.  _ Then;  _ don’t you hate me? _

“Nah,” Connor says. “You’re my best friend. I don’t hate you.”

_ You should. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done horrible things.  _

“I know.”

_ Then why? _

“I came all the way here, to the SMP I mean,” Connor tells it, “because I knew you’d be here. Because I  _ heard  _ you were here. I came just for the small  _ chance  _ I’d see you, and even if I got here a little too late I was happy because you  _ still were here _ . I don’t care if you made mistakes. The Tommy kid  _ held me hostage  _ and I don’t hate him.”

_ Tommy is a good kid,  _ the wind protests. 

“Tommy’s annoying as fuck!” Connor laughs. “He ruined my party, dude!”

Silence.  _ He did ruin your party.  _

“Yeah!”

_ I executed Tubbo,  _ the wind confesses.  _ I had him explode. I made Technoblade do it.  _

“So I’ve heard.”

_ I made him decorate his own execution,  _ it chokes, buffeting around. Far away, an enderman watches him talk to thin air. He wonders if he can see his best friend beside him.  _ A kid. My brother. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m a monster.  _

“I think you’re just a person,” Connor sighs. The gale freezes, listening, waiting. “People make mistakes.”

_ I haven’t been a person in a very long time,  _ the wind says, and Connor knows it’s not just talking about his death, months ago.  _ I don’t think I remember how to be one.  _

“Then let us help.” He turns, finally, towards the empty space behind him. He thinks he can vaguely discern a faint outline; yes, the sharpness of the horns, the curls framing his face, the starched silhouette of his two-piece, the familiar eyes and scarred hands. “You know we both know exactly how it is.”

_ The end is coming. They sit on the steps leading to Schlatt’s house, watching the sun rise. Tonight, Schlatt will fight in the End. Tonight, it will all change forever. Connor leans against him; “don’t forget about me, okay?” And Schlatt laughs and says, “how could I? It’s impossible to escape you.” _

_ The end is coming. Connor is a god, has been for a while now. He continues to keep fighting. He continues his search. One day, he will bring his brother home.  _

The outline vibrates.  _ I don’t want to hurt you,  _ it says. It is its last attempt at raising a wall.

“You won’t,” Connor says. “You can’t hurt me,” he says, and it’s a promise. “I’m not some pussy ass bitch, you know that.”

The wind laughs, nervous.  _ Yeah, yeah,  _ it says, and then the washed-out phantom of his best friend sits next to him, staring into the lava lake beyond. His eyes, red, are as friendly as welcoming as they had been when they first met, just two boys trying to make it big.  _ “I know.” _

Connor smiles. “You wanna see what Charlie’s up to? Heard he’s living with Tubbo now. You know, uh, Snowchester?”

_ “That’s a dumb fucking name,”  _ the ghost says. _ “Make him change it to something less dumb.” _

He laughs, lighthearted for once, and stands up. “ _ You _ do it, asshole. Let’s go!”

The wind follows him as he heads to the portal, heads home, and to his credit, he doesn’t even flinch at the heavy scent of smoke and desolation it carries.


	3. there’s men in the world who just wanna see fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind stops howling.  
> The man opens his eyes.

The wind howls around them. The night is clear, chilly; a breeze runs past them, and Charlie swears he hears its laughter.

He’s walking down the Prime Path with Connor. The Crimson bullshit is everywhere, and Tommy had asked them to help him clean it up, at least from the path itself. If you asked Charlie, he would’ve burnt it all down to a crisp already; he knows Connor would agree with him, and if Schlatt were alive, the bastard probably would’ve hurled lightning at the twisting tendrils months ago. As it stands, they just hold netherite hoes (feels overkill, but okay) and work on it just a few hours a day, keeping the shit off the roads in exchange for diamonds they’re too lazy to mine for. They’ve finished for today, so they’re heading home; they’re walking Connor home first, to his new land, and then Charlie will make the trip back to Snowchester. It’s pretty late.

“You know,” Connor openly complains, “if you helped us, we could do this a lot faster.”

_Yeah,_ the wind whispers, sweet like rum. _I don’t wanna, though. You’re the guys getting paid for it and I ain’t gonna work minimum wage when I’m dead as hell._

“Dick,” Charlie scoffs, no real anger behind his words. “That red shit grosses me out. It feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s a bad time. We should get rid of it.”

The wind grows quiet. “Schlatt?” Charlie says. “You still there?”

Footsteps, faint, behind them. _“Yeah,”_ the phantom says, chewing on an apple. _“Just thinkin’.”_ He catches up to them, and Charlie tries not to stare at his monochrome tone, at the bleeding red of his horns, the emptiness behind his eyes. _“Where did it come from, anyway? I didn’t notice it show up.”_

There’s gaps in Schlatt’s memory, even now. It’s nothing like how Ghostbur had been; Connor insisted the man was like a child, and Schlatt couldn’t stand the guy. But sometimes he forgets things. Sometimes he forgets himself. He becomes storm and tempest, wracked by grief, only to settle in seconds after he forgets why he had been so upset at himself to begin with.

( _“I killed Tubbo,”_ he cries, once. Thirty minutes later, Puffy and Tubbo meet the three of them by the church. He doesn’t remember having seen him since the day he got banned. He hasn’t seen her since he was seventeen.)

“I think it was during Tommy’s exile, but it went off the rails like, after Dream got thrown into jail,” Connor says. “I dunno, man. It’s weird.”

_“It’s speaking,”_ Schlatt says then, and they both are looking at him now, as he continues walking forward.

“What’s it saying?”

_“My name,”_ the ghost says. He’s staring into the distance, towards where the Egg must be. _“Our names. It’s calling to us.”_

Schlatt flickers, for a short moment, between his sharp suit and a warm, wooly sweater. “Schlatt?” Charlie repeats himself. The phantom settles into the suit again.

_“Sorry,”_ he says, voice warping. _“Shit was weird. I don’t think we should go there.”_

“Duh,” Connor says, unnerved. “Let’s just hurry the fuck up, this is giving me a bad vibe.”

They pass Tommy’s house and there, by the cliff overlooking the crater that was once a country, they stop. Schlatt always lingers by the sight. They have both long since stopped trying to move him away from it. They suppose it must be weird; the place where you died no longer existing. They stand by his side and watch.

_“I’m going to take a nap,”_ Schlatt says, not looking at them. The wind rises. When they look at him again, he’s gone. The wind has gone quiet.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Connor asks. “I mean, he’s dead, but like, he’ll get better, right? I can’t handle this emo shit.”

“I don’t know,” Charlie huffs. He sits down on the staircastairs leading to the crater, placing his hoe next to him; his companion follows, flopping down on his left. “It’s weird. I thought I’d still be angry at him for all the shit he did to me, but I’m not that angry anymore. And, even though he definitely deserves this, I still feel pretty bad.”

“He’s still our friend, I guess. It’s hard to shake that off.”

Charlie wants to scream at Connor sometimes. _He never haunted you like he haunted me. He never split the Earth to watch you suffer. He never made you see rising empires just to make you fall with them. His curse never burned through your veins like it did through mine, through ours._ But Connor looks into the distance, eyes tired and ancient, and Charlie reminds himself that he’s just like them too: alone, exhausted, hurt. Who is he to judge Connor, Charlie thinks? 

“I guess,” Charlie agrees instead. The silence is a little uncomfortable now.

“Hey,” Connor attempts. “If you had the chance, would you bring him back?”

God, Charlie really wants to scream at Connor sometimes. 

“I, uh, I should get going,” Connor says a while later, standing up. “It was nice hanging out. Same time tomorrow?”

Charlie shrugs. “Sure.”

He doesn’t watch his friend leave towards his small land. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Connor asks him. He’s staring right into his eyes, into his soul. It’s a little unnerving.

“It’s not up to what I want,” Charlie breathes. _I do,_ he thinks. _I want him back. More than anything._

They stand before the altar, hand in trembling hand. Truth be told, Charlie never thought he’d ever be here, doing this. It’s wrong, he can feel it in his core, and he knows Connor can feel it too. Dread pools in his stomach. They’re really going to do this; there’s no turning back now. 

It hadn’t been something they were really considering before. But after the Egg mishap last week—

(“Charlie,” the man in front of him screams. His hands grip onto his forearms so, so tightly, and Charlie isn’t even sure how he’s managing that, when he’s dead certain he must be hell-hot by now. “Charlie, fucking— listen to me, dickhead.”

Charlie is listening. He can hear everything. He can hear Connor yelling at him as he burns his hands against his skin. He can hear the red thing screaming for him in inverse words: **love me, kill him, kill them all,** and he’s honored, he’s horrified. He can hear everyone else, within the crimson: **join us, love us, kill him now.**

“Can’t you hear them?” Charlie whispers. His voice resonates throughout the crater. “They’re calling for me, Connor. They need me.”

“You fucking idiot, you’re getting your fuckin’ ass brainwashed! Snap out of it!”

The wind howls around them. Charlie can hear it, too. It is saying unimportant, hypocritical things. 

**Come home,** the red tells Charlie. It has his voice, and if he closes his eyes he can almost picture his face: Grizzly, a poppy in his hand, tangling it into Charlie’s hair. _You can look at the flower and think of me, ~~and I’ll already be dead.~~ _

**Can you hear us?** Ted’s calling to him, now. Fuck, he hasn’t seen Ted in years. There’s no void to fall into this time, no cult to fear. **You’re gonna be late, pal.**

**Come home,** the red screams, a million voices beckoning him. **He will be here. Everyone is here. They’re all waiting for you. All that you ever wanted, all that you lost, we can give it to you.**

“They’re waiting for us, Connor,” Charlie shouts over the roar of the storm. “Can’t you see that?”

“You’re fucking delusional, dude,” Connor screams back. “That’s not Grizzly. Ted’s not _there_. That shit is playing with you.”

“You can hear them!” 

“Because it’s that fucking thing speaking!”)

—they need all hands on deck. 

Charlie shivers. His hand reaches towards his neck, where the vines had wrapped themselves around, right until Sam had arrived and burnt them to a writhing crisp. He still has the scars; if he forgets, he thinks he can still hear its voice. Behind them, Quackity stands guard. They’re all painfully aware of what he truly wants Schlatt for. It’s okay. Connor and Charlie won’t let that happen. 

There’s no wind today, just the traces of a man too afraid to visit their own grave. His presence lingers everywhere here, where even the Vines can’t reach. No one’s too sure as to why, but Charlie has his own theories. He’s sure Connor has thought about it too.

“Well,” he starts. His throat is dry. His hands are drenched in sweat and soot. One mistake is all it would take. “Let’s, uh, let’s get this party started!”

They pull the bones, the ones that are left, from the unearthed casket. They’re smooth against his bare skin and he hates this so much. Connor holds his friend’s skull, looking one moment away from crying.

The wind rises. _What are you doing?_ It whispers, alarmed, as Quackity lights the candles, pours the whiskey into a glass, then into three shot glasses. _I don’t want this. Please._ Its pleads fall on deaf ears.

“You had a dream,” Quackity says. “You had a dream, and we followed it. And then you ruined it, and us along with it. Now, we’re bringing you back - you’re gonna finish your dream, whether you like it or not.”

The three grab their shots. Toast into the air. The wind buffets.

“This is for Schlatt,” Connor says. “My best friend.”

“For Schlatt,” Quackity follows. “The worst person I’ve ever met.”

Charlie looks up, stares into the dark eyes of his best friend’s portrait, the well-memorized edges of his tormentor’s face. His heart races. 

“For Schlatt,” he finishes, and downs the whiskey and lets it burn, before sending the glass crashing into the altar. 

(“Grizzly’s fucking dead,” Charlie snaps at Schlatt once. “We had to fucking kill him because he went mad with your power.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the ghost of Schlatt flinches. 

“You never mean anything,” Charlie seethes.)  
  


(“You abandoned me,” Connor screams at Schlatt once. “Me and Ty, you sick fuck, you left us! We thought you were dead!”

“I’m sorry,” the ghost of Schlatt stutters, anxiously. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Connor hisses.)

(You are in limbo.

You are in the void. You shouldn’t be here. The memories are rushing it. You don’t want it. 

You don’t want it at all.)

(What you want, more than anything, isn’t power. It isn’t control, it isn’t fear. Not anymore. 

You want the house on the hill. You want scams by the road. You want laughter by the ocean. You want your sister, your brother. You want the shining city and the laughter of your friends at your jokes. 

You want home.)

The wind stops howling. 

The man opens his eyes and stares at steel skies. He shivers at the cold, at the damp grass beneath him, but can’t bring himself to sit up, to find cover, so he simply curls up into his suit jacket, dirty and stained.

He remembers. The way the storm rages inside him, the lightning runs through his veins. The lava, burning around him as he cheats death. The water inside his lungs, suffocating him over and over again. 

He remembers being a monster. He remembers being human. 

He chokes on a sob. Fuck, he needs a drink. 

Fingers run through his hair, brushing against his horns gently, and his heart squeezes at the familiarity: a memory from home, all those years ago. 

“Welcome back,” Connor whispers. 

“We’re sorry,” Charlie says. “We’re running out of options.”

“So you revived the worst person you know,” Schlatt whimpers; his hands curl up over his face, and he inhales, drawing one of his first breaths in his new body. It smells like pine, gold nuggets, California and home. “Got it. Definitely a solid idea.”

“Don’t be such a crybaby. I get that you were just born and everything but Jesus, man.”

Connor chokes on a laugh. “That was so bad, dude.”

“Go on then, take my canon lives. Take the shot, Conar.”

Later, he will have to don the mask again. The cunning schemer, the master manipulator, the Demon of the Storm. He will have to wield his silver tongue and the fire bursting from his hands. He will have no choice but to fight. 

Right now, Schlatt trembles into his best friends’ hold, underneath the stars of the world spawn, and wishes he had the liberty to repent. 

(“Do you ever want him back?” Connor asks him. 

“More than anything,” Charlie admits.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long. semester ending killed me. im pulling a resurrection like big guy and wil
> 
> EDIT MARCH 2 SOMEONE DREW FANART FOR THIS AND IM CRYING ITS SO GOOD IM SHAKING [LOOK AT THE BOYS!!!! HOLY FUCK!!!!!!! THANK YOU MER_CARVA I AM GOING THRU IT!!!!](https://twitter.com/mer_carva/status/1366609003254583299?s=21)


End file.
